Have A Very Merry(tanian) Christmas

Growing up, Christmas was about anticipation. Sure, there were presents involved, but there were presents at other times, too. Birthdays. Easter. But no other gift-giving holiday could match Christmas for the sheer anticipation of the event. Santa and shopping, a month of constant carols. Even a calendar for each person, just so that we could count down the days until we could open those presents that were under the tree, toys just beyond our reach. And then, in a grand climax, on Christmas day, we would wake up at 5:00 am so that we could tear through the presents, see what we had, and then spend the rest of the day enjoying every single piece of the load.

This doesn't exist in Mauritania.

In Mauritania, the holidays are a bit more restrained, maybe slightly less kid-focused. For each of the major holidays, everyone tries to go home. It's very important that everyone spend Eid Sayeid with the family if possible. It can be difficult, with distance and cost. And then, wearing new clothes that were specially bought for the holiday, the people spend the day laughing and talking with family and friends, all over a big, expensive, but lovingly prepared meal. It's a lovely tradition, but I've always had a hard time reconciling it with the holidays that I remember from my youth.

I came home for Christmas this year.

I missed the blatant commercialism of Christmas. Say all you want about how it kills the spirit of Christmas; to me, the commercialism was always a major part of the spirit of Christmas. It builds anticipation. Seeing decorations everywhere from December 1st until about a week after the holiday itself has passed; hearing Christmas music from every working speaker and about a quarter of the broken ones; looking for that special something that each person will love. I like it. And it's tough to replace in the RIM.

For about two months, I anticipated this holiday. My trip home to see my family for the holidays. I hadn't seen them in 18 months. It was just too far, and too expensive to go home before. So the prospect of seeing my family was just too good to pass up, especially for a holiday. That's when everyone is home, and that's when we have the best food. There's nothing like sitting around the living room, joking with my brother and sisters, smelling whatever my mother has decided to favor us with.

I'm a little older now. Getting up at 5:00 is more something for a 5-year-old, and the gifts will be there at 8:00, and might be even more enjoyable with those extra 3 hours of sleep. That's not to say that I wasn't the first up; I was just slightly more restrained than I was 24 years ago.

So eventually we made our way downstairs to see what we'd all found for one another. Wearing my comfy new PJs, fresh the night before, I joined everyone at the stockings, and then the trees. We all had a good laugh at the gag-gifts (like the cute animal postcards with messages like "You Have 6 Weeks To Live"), and we all made the appropriate sounds for the meaningful gifts ("My, what a wonderful book!").

After the festivities were done, we set to work cleaning the house (a task I would never have embraced as a child), which was doubly important since we had company coming. 6 family friends who would be joining us for dinner. My brother and I cleaned up the family room, I set out the dinner table with my younger sister, and my mother and sisters worked in the kitchen to prepare the meal.

That evening, in our new Christmas clothes, we greeted our friends at the door. First in the living room and then around the dinner table, we talked about our lives, we discussed current events, laughed at the absurdities that we see everywhere. It was a fantastic dinner.

My brother remarked to me on Christmas Eve that he loves this holiday, too. And that he comes home for two things- Family and skiing. I agree, though I think that the whole thing might be lacking without the fresh clothes and a nice dinner. Having friends over is just icing on the cake.

Which sounds suspiciously like a Mauritanian Christmas.

Dances With Unintended Consequences

A dog adopted me when I was still living in Nema. When I showed her some small kindness on the street, she decided that my house would be a nicer place to live than a garbage heap (how much thought she had to put into it, I don’t know). It was a simple arrangement back then. When I was around, she was allowed in my yard. I would find her food every now and again, but she would use her own resources the rest of the time. If I left on vacation, she would be on her own. And she could follow me through town, if I wasn’t going to a meeting (she would always sneak into the conference rooms).

When I moved to Aleg, I brought her with me. While she had managed on her own well enough in my absence, I just didn’t have the heart to leave her. Since Mauritanians don’t love dogs, and children are allowed to stone them on the streets, I figured that she would be better off coming with me than staying on her own.

What I didn’t consider was that dog ownership is a responsibility. In Nema, it had been easy. She was a street dog who frequented my house. But as soon as I took her out of her zone, she became my dog. One that I had to feed every day instead of when I felt generous. I couldn’t just let her wander the streets anymore; she needed boundaries, a yard. She doesn’t always love the new boundaries, but she manages.

Since she’s now confined to a yard for most of the day, I have a new, completely unexpected responsibility- walks. Every morning, I get up early to take her for her walk around the town. And every evening, before dinner, I take her for the second run. A time to stretch her legs, smell things, eat rancid scraps that she finds on every corner (which keeps down her food bill). The biggest surprise is that she stays right by me, but I suppose that after spending the first year of her life on her own, she’s probably pretty grateful.

For the first few days of our walks, Bella and I would just stroll around town, take in the sights, and get a little exercise. But after a few days, the law of unintended consequences introduced a new variable- kids. Mauritanians, as I’ve mentioned, do not like dogs. Walking a dog is a bit like walking a wolf; everyone clears a path for the dog and wonders at my bravery, foolishness, or both. And children tend to hurl insults and stones at dogs, though which hurts Bella more, I’m not sure.

But they didn’t. The kids hurled neither stone nor insult. Instead, they greeted me. They greeted me with curiosity, and with wonder. And I found myself surrounded by children, none of whom wanted to touch the creature from bedtime stories that sent them into nightmares and screams- a dog, that sharp-toothed brute that runs like the wind and drinks the blood of small children. But I calmed them, and encouraged them. I showed them how gentle Bella is. And eventually, one of the kids plucked up enough courage to touch her- just barely- and then run back to the crowd. So another did. And another. And eventually, they were stroking her, and letting her sniff their hands. They didn’t listen to the words of prudence from the older women nearby; they had an adventure of which to partake.

And so I became a modern Pied Piper, the Nazirani Dog-Walker of Aleg, with a trail of twenty children following me to the ends of the town, entranced by this mystical dog that you could touch without fear of being bitten. Occasionally stopping to calm parents who were concerned about the activity, I led the children from one end of town to the other and back, and may again tonight.

Which begs the question- what is the next Unintended Consequence that Bella will unleash on me?

New Lease

I have a new house. It's not a bad house, really. I held out for as long as I could. After the disaster that my house was in Nema, I knew that I needed something good here, and I knew what to look for-

-A roof that doesn't leak
-Back windows (a cross-breeze is necessary in this heat)
-A good wall around the yard (to keep kids out and the dog in)
-Running water
-Reliable electricity
-An outhouse that doesn't smell too bad

In the end, I wound up with something that more or less fits the bill. I live out of a fairly large rectangle with windows on three sides. No more mud and stone huts for me; I live out of concrete these days. And the dog has a yard to run in and a wall that keeps her from mistaking the ends of that yard. So one of the things that kept me down in Nema is taken care of.

But I don't spend much time at home. I spend my time visiting other volunteers whose rectangles with windows are filled with other amenities, like carpeting and comfortable mats. Or residents of Aleg whose rectangles are improved by A/C units and glass windows. Or at offices and centers where I can get a bit of work done, alone or with other volunteers and Mauritanians.

It's amazing the effect that those other rectangles have on my life. In Nema, where most of my work fell apart after about 9 months, I felt that I was destined to wait out my 2 year stint and go home, pausing at the border only to kick the dust off my sandals. But here in Aleg, I have work, and I have 5 fantastic, dedicated, and positive peers with whom to work. There are countless organizations that not only talk about work, but show me what they're doing. And when I need to relax and decompress, I hang out with volunteers, fellow Americans with whom I can share my language, culture, and interests.

I like my new house. It's a fine rectangle. But if I had to live in a lesser rectangle, I'd say that the other amenities that Aleg offers are much more important to my mental health in what is shaping up to a very positive and productive 2nd year in Mauritania.